


Haze

by In_Dee



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dee/pseuds/In_Dee
Summary: He would have words with the bartender later about letting someone spike his drink… if he survived the next hours that was.
Kudos: 56





	Haze

He took another sip of his drink. He was beginning to hate this case. No scratch that. He already hated this case. With passion.

He was cut off from his support system and while he had once liked working alone, he didn’t anymore. There was just something about being part of a team - being part of _his_ team.

He shook his head, forcing the thoughts away and back to why he was here, back to who he was supposed to be. He couldn’t allow himself to fall out of character. He was too close. It was one thing to impersonate someone, but for a deep cover operation like this one, you had to _become_ your cover story, or you became the dead body in a bad spy novel.

Shaking his head again, he again nudged his mind back to what he was doing, away from thoughts of home and companionship. Four months of this deep undercover stint and he was finally getting closer to where he needed to be to move the case forward.

His vision blurred and he frowned, glancing down and angling his glass for inspection to try to recall how much he’d had to drink.

It shouldn’t have been enough to blur his sight. He thought.

Keeping his eyes firmly on the amber liquid, he blinked slowly, willing his vision to clear. It didn’t.

Alcohol had never been a problem for him. It was probably the eastern European roots in him that made him pretty immune to the effects of even high percentage drinks. Callen smirked. A Russian Major for a father and a Romani gypsy spy for a mother. That no one had ever questioned his loyalties to the United States with that heritage was probably a miracle.

He blinked again, his frown deepening when his mind wandered once more without his permission, a nagging feeling of worry spreading through him.

Sam had hated this from the start, hated that he would be without backup. He had argued with Hetty and Granger, but it had been out of their hands; the decision to send him in on his own had been made above their combined heads.

“I hate to see you going in without backup,” his partner had groused, “that’s not what we do. You need to have backup.”

Sam might have been right about that one though.

His tongue felt too big for his mouth. His vision was blurring further and his senses were beginning to tingle, warning bells going off in his head. Too late though. The bells would have been needed earlier - preferably before he had consumed whatever drug was coursing through him now.

He put the glass down and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the faint stirring of adrenaline when the warning bells got louder and louder, screaming that this was BAD - in capital letters.

The adrenaline helped clear his head a little. It probably wouldn’t hold for long, but he would take what he could get.

Damage control.

He was pretty certain he wouldn’t have much more time. They would have waited and watched for signs of him succumbing to whatever they had managed to slip him.

He would have words with the bartender later about letting someone spike his drink.

Slowly shaking his head, he forced his attention back on the task at hand… he had to hang on to his senses for a while longer. Leaving and getting away was out of the question. Only one thing to do… call in the cavalry… subtly.

He blew out a breath, trying to focus.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he stared at the device for a moment, watching it multiply in front of his eyes while the edges of his vision started darkening.

Backup.

Sam's words.

He gritted his teeth and forced his thumb to find the home button. A little piece of his rational mind resurfaced and he was glad that Eric had set up something years ago that would bypass the usual way of sending up red flags in an agency. Usually, an agent in distress code needed to be entered manually, but considering that the one phone he held multiplied into three or four phones in front of his eyes right now, he doubted he would be able to type in that code - if he remembered the code in the first place. Eric’s set up was simpler.

_“Just use the home button three times in a specific pattern.”_

He nearly giggled at the thought of this really being a home button. It would alert home.

Now… was it long-short-long or short-long-short?

He put his head down on the counter, wracking what little of his brain remained. Eric had laughingly told him the pattern was a shortened version for a Morse code SOS. His fingers simply complied with what his subconscious came up with at that info.

He felt several people drawing closer to him, circling like vultures.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to get himself out of this right now. He was too far gone and currently wouldn’t stand a chance against his ninety years old grandmother… the one he didn’t have… he thought.

He could only hope that they would ask questions instead of simply putting a bullet through his brain and be done with him. That wouldn’t be too good. Sam would hate that. Hell, Callen would hate that.

He didn’t _think_ he had been made… but then again, thinking didn’t do him any good in his current state.

If they asked questions, he needed to have the right answers. The drugs would mess with him, but he could master those… somehow.

So he did the only thing left for him to do, the only thing he could do considering his drugged state:

Callen drew the invisible mantle of his alias closer around himself, firmly settling himself into the mind of his cover story. Thoughts of home and the team vanished from his mind, having no place within his persona anymore.

He needed to become his alias to survive the next hours.

Xxxxxxx

Some of his senses came back in a flash, his thoughts still muddled but his body awake and - thankfully - under his command.

When he felt a presence loom over him, Callen reacted instantly, his instincts screaming danger. He threw a punch. The grunt he heard above him was enough to orient himself, his body rolling on its own accord. His left hand met some resistance, something trying to snag him back, but he simply tugged and used his right hand to free himself before staggering to his feet, intent on following through with what he had started.

Get out. He needed to get out. He was somehow in danger.

His vision was blurred, but the shape that moved in front of him provided enough of a target to focus on.

The next punch didn’t connect, instead flying past the blurry shape of a man, making him stumble when his balance was compromised. He caught his weight before he crashed down but not before several people closed in on him from the sides, taking hold of him and working on subduing him.

Vision and sound were distorted, too distorted to make anything out.

He bucked and fought, crashing left and right to dislodge his attackers, adrenaline dousing his system and pulling strength from every atom of his body, providing him with a much needed boost.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

He felt another person slide behind him, an arm snaking around his neck.

Fuelled by adrenaline, survival instinct and despair both, he threw his weight around, crashing the group of people around him into some random objects.

Eventually though, despite giving it his all (which probably wasn’t much considering his state), darkness crept up on him, the choke hold taking effect and sending him back under.

Xxxxxxx

Next time his consciousness returned, it came back slowly, like wading through the tide that was sweeping him back and forth, dragging him under and spitting him out above.

He felt queasy, unsettled and out of his mind.

“G?”

It was a murmur, but it hurt his senses. Still, it drew his attention enough to try and focus. He noted that his eyes were open but not registering anything around him, his sight somewhat blurred in a thousand yard stare. He blinked slowly, hoping for more luck and clarity.

A shape was hovering in his peripheral vision, carefully leaning closer when he tried to bring it into focus. The big blob slowly shaped itself into his partner. His eyes still had trouble focusing, but Sam held still, waiting patiently, his eyes intensely focused on Callen.

“What happened to your face?” he questioned; or that was what he had tried to say. It came out more as “w’ happn o yo fa?” followed by a cough that sent pain flaring through him.

It spoke of years of familiarity with each other that Sam could decipher the cryptic mumble. “I ran into your fist,” his partner told him when Callen had finally gotten his breath back.

“Huh?” At least that was an easy question to form, more sound than word. Still, his throat ached.

Sam’s hand snuck beneath his head and carefully tilted it up. He would grouse about being treated like an invalid soon. As soon as he got his breath back and managed the coordination to do anything instead of flopping around like a ragdoll to be handled.

The bout of vertigo that movement brought on ebbed away after a few moments and Sam held up a glass of water for him to see before bringing it to his lips.

He took a sip and then tried to reach up with his hand to take over. He didn’t get far, but it wasn’t due to his ragdoll coordination. His arm was brought up short by a padded cuff around his wrist.

He stared at it for a moment before the implication sank through the fog, clearing it rapidly as he started pulling against the restraint. It was primal instinct that took over, making him start mindlessly tugging against the cuff that held him.

“G.” Sam’s voice was drowned by the adrenaline and the rattling sound of the cuffs - plural! - that now held his focus.

A moment later, his head was restrained by his partner’s hands, holding him firm, doing little to help quell the panic. He trashed in the restraints, fighting against Sam’s hold. “Off,” he bit out, tugging and trashing before he eventually slumped back into the mattress, having exhausted what little energy reserves he had.

Sam’s hold remained steady, strong enough to quell the tremors that ran through him but not strong enough to ground him in whatever reality he found himself in.

“You done now?” Sam asked, his voice a calm rumble.

“Take ‘em off,” he requested, panting, his hands still tugging, albeit slowly and sluggishly now. He didn’t know if he kept the despair down that tried to color his voice.

“Can’t,” Sam shook his head while keeping his hold steady, “you’re still under the influence of the drugs they pumped into you. Last time you woke, you put up a massive fight, tore out the IV, crashed around the room. It took Kensi, Deeks and me to subdue you. Had it been a doctor or nurse instead of us, we would have dealt with bodies.”

Callen blinked owlishly, his mind half on what his partner was telling him and half on the cuffs he was still tugging on, though somewhat halfheartedly now.

“G? You with me?”

His eyes rolled to his partner, trying to focus back on him. Things were catching up on him though, crowding his focus from all sides. Nausea rolled through him, overwhelming him when everything suddenly imploded, robbing him of sense and understanding. “Sick,” he managed to mutter. Sam’s hold on him changed, hoisting him upwards and putting something under his head while he retched and coughed, his body expelling bile and water, his stomach trying to crawl out of his body to follow the meager contents it had gotten rid of just now.

Cold sweat was beading his skin when finally the cramps eased.

He barely managed to follow Sam’s order, taking a tiny mouthful of water before spitting it out again. He was shaking when Sam slowly and carefully eased him backwards again.

“Sleep, G, let the drugs run their course. It’ll be better soon.” The words reached him, following his mind into the darkness that rushed up to meet him.

Xxxxxxx

When he came back to consciousness the third time, someone stood at his side. He felt hands on him, holding his arm and he sluggishly tried moving it away from the touch while blinking his eyes open.

His mind was still sluggish, but at least his vision was clearing rapidly. Glancing over, he saw a nurse drawing blood. Their eyes connected for a moment before she looked away from him. “Agent Hanna? He’s awake.”

Someone shifted on his other side and he slowly turned his head in that direction, his eyes sliding away from the vial of blood that filled.

“Hey G. You with me?”

He contemplated the question, his mind trying to sink back into oblivion several times before he resolutely dragged it back. “’m fine.” Go with the basics. Use the standard.

Sam scoffed, a smirk on his features.

He tried to remember what had happened, why he was obviously laid up in a hospital bed. His thoughts wouldn’t sharpen though, a black curtain surrounding anything pertaining to how he had come to be here.

“What happn’d?” he asked, still trying to understand why he was here, feeling as if he had been run over by a truck or two (or a dozen).

“What do you remember?”

If he remembered anything, he wouldn’t ask what had happened. He closed his eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, only to be drawn up short. _That_ jumpstarted his memory into a previous fight with padded cuffs, adrenaline and survival instincts (a fight that he lost). His eyes snapped open as he (still ineffectively) tugged at the cuffs around his wrists. “Take them off, Sam,” he ordered.

Sam had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Still no can do. The nurse that just left? They have been taking blood samples every few hours. So far, you’ve still been under the influence of the drug.”

“I’m good,” he argued. He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t give his partner that particular piece of information.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “No, you’re not.”

Callen huffed in frustration before purposefully sinking back into the mattress, his body falling still, his mind exercising iron control over his limbs and his instincts that wanted to _get the fuck away_. As long as he wasn’t tugging on the cuffs, he could potentially ignore they were there. Maybe.

“As soon as they give us the all clear, the cuffs will come off. The levels were off the chart when we brought you in. They can’t counteract the drug so it’s got to run its course,” Sam told him.

“Hate being restrained,” he mumbled, still forcing himself to lie still so he wouldn’t feel the restraints. Maybe he could get out of them? He had managed police cuffs and even straightjackets before, hospital cuffs should be easy, right?

Sam sighed, drawing his attention back. “I know, G. Try to relax. I’ve got your back.”

Yeah, there was that at least. He obviously couldn’t protect himself, restrained as he was, but at least Sam was around to fend off potential dangers.

He took a few deliberately slow breaths, closing his eyes and focusing the rest of his senses on his partner - a soft rustle of fabric when he moved, calm in- and exhalations and also the subtle hint of aftershave that usually lingered around Sam. He allowed all of that to ground him, using it to keep himself calm despite being restrained. “Seriously, Sam… what happened?”

“Talk me through what you remember last, then I will try to fill in the blanks,” his partner suggested.

Easier said than done.

Sam had said something about drugs. He’d been drugged. When? How? Why? The _why_ was probably easy… some sort of operation; probably an undercover mission, given his profession. The _how_ and the _when_ eluded him though.

Deliberately slowing his breathing, keeping his eyes closed, he nudged his mind back in time, before setting it loose, letting it wander. He had learned long ago that forcing his mind on a specific topic usually didn’t work for him when he needed to remember something. He needed to let go, allow his thoughts to wander, every now and then giving a subtle nudge to guide them to where he needed them to go.

He was rewarded with the first flashes: _moving into a back alley to meet with several men. Stretching out on a couch in some random rundown room_. Those seemed too far away though, but were probably giving him the context of whatever mission had gone wrong. _Clear liquid in a small vial. Crates of weapons stolen from Camp Pendelton._ Did those two belong together or were they separate? He nudged his mind back to the crates of weapons… _hand guns, assault rifles and other tactical gear in the first crates. He followed a man further down into the darkness of the warehouse, stopping in front of a closed door. When they entered, there were more weapons. He was aware of what they were, but hadn’t been aware that they could be part of this case… a new guided missile system. Experimental weaponry. It would narrow their potential suspects down quite considerably as this was not something a lot of people had knowledge of, let alone access to._ That had been good news. He remembered thinking that the bad news was that he didn’t only want the supplier, but more so the destination. He knew the middle man, but the ones behind this whole scheme were still elusive… and those were his targets. And with these kinds of weapons in play, it got a whole lot more pressing to take them into custody than it had been the months so far.

Months.

Undercover.

Alone.

Sam arguing about backup.

Backup.

A bar.

He felt the surge of dread, letting him know that he had found the starting point of this hospitalization.

“I was in a bar, waiting for the top dogs to finally make contact and draw me into the inner circle,” he voiced slowly, testing the words. Opening his eyes, he glanced at Sam who had sat forward when he started speaking, probably surprised when he had broken the silence after long minutes of letting his mind wander. “Did I get made?” he frowned again, trying to sort through the vague memories and flashes. “I don’t remember clearly, but I don’t think there was anything to suggest so. It was a simple meet, nothing to call the cavalry in for yet. Just a first meet to feel each other up, see if they were the real deal.”

At least he thought so.

“I had a drink or two, but remember starting to feel sluggish.” His mind had been wandering away from him several times. “Guess they spiked my drink.” He frowned, trying to recall some of his wandering thoughts, slowly shaking his head when his mind refused to cough up more, instead hiding the memories behind a dark curtain of drugs.”How much am I missing?”

“Forty two hours, give or take since you sent an Agent in Distress alert from the bar,” Sam gave back.

He frowned again. “I sent out a distress alert?” He didn’t remember that.

“Well, Eric’s version of it,” Sam amended, “but yeah, luckily you did. Surveillance tapes from the bar indicate your second drink had been spiked and you deteriorated rather quickly after that. It took us four hours to find you. You lost the phone in the bar after losing consciousness. Made it kinda difficult to find you.” The tracking device had been his phone.

So there were four hours completely unaccounted for and about thirty-eight hours more after the team found him that he had no recollection of due to being unconscious and drugged out of his mind. Not good. “What happened in those four hours?” he asked, wondering if they had pieced it together.

Considering he was still alive, he obviously hadn’t been made - or he had been but they had been forgiving and left him alone instead of putting a bullet into his head… but no, the people he had been dealing with had been too careful and well organized to allow an undercover agent who had seen too much of their operation to survive. If he had been made, he would have been dead. “What did they want?”

“Check out your story,” Sam answered. “They wanted to bring you in but wanted to double check. The drugs were a new business model they obviously didn’t quite have under control though. New designer drug about to hit the streets - the DEA is salivating over that by the way. Anyway, either they miscalculated the dose or they had an idiot for a supplier. They were waiting for you to come around enough so they could question you about your alias.”

He observed his partner, wondering if he was messing with him. He wasn’t. “Seriously? Those guys were pros concerning the weapons part. Did they put a brain-dead monkey in charge of their drug branch?”

“Well, I don’t think he was brain-dead, but he was the second cousin far removed from the guy in charge and he couldn’t hold a job as a janitor in real life, so he’s probably only about two IQ points above a brain-dead monkey,” Deeks’ voice came from the other side of the room as he and Kensi sauntered inside.

Callen glanced over at them, taking in their postures. They were both relaxed enough to tell him that they had everyone in custody and the case was on its way to be closed, reports written.

Kensi came over and gave him an awkward hug considering he was restrained in bed. “Good to see you finally awake,” she murmured.

Deeks parked his body in the second visitor chair and put his legs up on the hospital bed. “You back among the living?”

Callen sighed and juggled his hands, making the cuffs rattle in response and him grit his teeth at the reminder of being restrained. “They don’t seem to think so,” he groused.

“Well, no offense, but no one wants a repeat of earlier when you went berserk on us,” Deeks shrugged, tensing and sinking lower in his chair when the combined glares of Sam and Callen landed on him.

Ok, he was done with that. If he was clear headed enough to hold this conversation, he was also clear headed enough to get out of the cuffs. There was a trick to them, he remembered. Shifting his wrist and carefully rotating his hand, he eventually managed to slide his right hand free before reaching over and undoing the left cuff.

The others had conversed around him and mostly over his head while he had focused on the cuffs. When he reached over to undo the left cuff, Sam gave him a look that clearly said ‘ _really?_ ’ before rolling his eyes and continuing the conversation.

Reaching up and rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed. Now that felt way better: free movement. “How about one of you gets a doctor to start on my release papers?” he asked with a small grin. He shifted, beginning to sit up when a bout of vertigo returned and he squeezed his eyes closed, sinking back into the cushions.

“How about we wait with that until you can sit up without turning an interesting shade of green?” Sam gave back, his voice carrying mirth and a hint of laughter. Neither Deeks nor Kensi held back on the chuckles.

Callen merely grunted, deciding to save face and lie still for now. For the moment, there was no place he had to be. His team was here, after months of being undercover alone, they could catch up like this while he waited for the drugs to release him from their grip.


End file.
